Lost
by HermioneGrangerTwin
Summary: "Tears slip from the corners of my eyes. Notes slip sadly from my throat. The song isn't quite as beautiful as it should be, broken in all the wrong places." Post-DH. R/Hr.


Lost

-ß-ß-

_"I think not being needed can kill a person." - Jeff Smith_

_"People need something or someone to fasten themselves to in order to reassure themselves that they are real." - Ani DiFranco_

_"The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost." – G.K. Chesterton_

-ß-ß-

I stoop over my cot at the Burrow, furiously packing all my belongings.

The words flood into my memory and out of my mouth.

"_Weeks and weeks!_"

I've been at the Burrow for weeks, and not once has Ron purposefully touched my skin. Not once have his lips touched me. After that kiss—that gloriously real, fiery, imperfect kiss—I thought that we would _be_. Then again, _I_ had kissed _him_. _I_ had done the work, and _he_ did nothing to make himself vulnerable. That's always the way it's been. He never apologizes, never tries; he leaves it all to me and I let him. Almost two years ago, _I_ asked _him_ to something, _anything_ to show that I was willing to try. I did the work.

I remember every one of his brothers' names and every pet he's every told me about. I listen to his stories and doubts and thoughts and remember. He can't even manage to remember my father's name. (Remembering my mother's is easy: her first name to my middle name.)

I do _everything_ for him. I try to help at every turn. I've finished a third of his schoolwork for him, remembered tests for him so that he would study, produced countless quills, and done corrections. I've known nearly every fact and helped find the ones I didn't.

I've been there when he needed to whinge, listened to every insecurity and tried to express how perfectly flawed I find him. When we were scared, I'd share first so it wouldn't be uncomfortable for him. When he had a thought, I tried to give it due the best way I knew how. I made jokes when he needed cheer, fought when he needed fire, and fixed when he needed mending.

I've struggled for seven years to be the best friend I can be. And now, the girlfriend I thought he wanted. I held out a hand when he looked low, tried to talk when he looked lonely, and killed countless kisses. After _weeks and weeks_, I've found that in spite of everything, I can do nothing to satisfy him.

So I began to pack a few minutes ago. I'm almost finished now. The only thing left is the gift.

The gift he gave me last week, the gift that was supposed to be my Christmas present. The gift that made me think that everything would be the way I had dreamed.

And he proved me incorrect.

I look at the music box longingly, loving what it was meant to represent, what it didn't mean. Sitting down on my cot, I open it, first seeing the note—_Happy Christmas, Hermione. Love, Ron_—then the key. I turn it and hear "Moon River" seeping from the invisible openings in the box.

Tears slip from the corners of my eyes. Notes slip sadly from my throat. The song isn't quite as beautiful as it should be, broken in all the wrong places. I close the box rapidly, muffling the sound and leave it on Ginny's shelf. I can't listen anymore. Haphazardly, I grasp the strap of my beaded bag.

I run down the stairs, and this is, I realize, a mistake, as Ron sticks out his head from the top landing as I reach the bottom.

"George, I wish you'd—" he begins when he sees me. "Hermione, what-"

But I never stop running, not even when he says my name. Not even when I hear him bellowing my name. Not even when his yells reverberate in my head as my own yells for him in a downpour. I don't stop even when I get outside the wards and Apparate to my parents' still abandoned home. I continue to run upstairs and into my old bedroom, collapsing into the familiar plush carpet, refusing to look around at the pictures on the wall of Ron and me. Harry is there somewhere, but I will surely not see him. I will only see Ron's arm around my shoulder, Ron's eyes darting toward me. I will read too much into the glances of his younger self; I will defeat myself for him.

I cannot cry now, apparently, I can only cry when I must stifle my sobs in Ginny's room at night when the spiders creep in and spin webs of doubt. Doubt that he even wants me for his friend. We started because I was in danger and he saved me. He couldn't ignore a girl in need. Then, believing him my friend, I gave him presents.

I could have trapped him in my gifting. I gave him everything I thought he'd want: small trifles of things, special gifts that I don't give anyone else. It started with chocolate biscuits that I manage to sneak past my parents, and then socks that will keep him warm in the Winter and cool in the Summer, and pants with the CC logo that have legs long enough to fit him. The gifts grew larger and he grew more adamant that I should not buy him things, but I want him to have something that's just _his_. The things I give him never belonged to anyone but him.

Undoubtedly, he feels ensnared by these presents. I have placed him in what he perceives as debt. He cannot possibly buy me things, so he feels responsible to redeem the gifts with his companionship.

And that's all I want.

It's pitiable that I am so desperate to prove my affection, I will buy him gifts and fix his homework and do anything to keep him around. I have no doubt that this rebelliousness will not last. I will go back to the Burrow and continue to try to purchase his love. I will further the vicious cycle of his debt.

It is in this thought that I realize something I should have known all along: I have done all this to ensure that he _needs_ me. That has been my goal, inadvertent as it may have been. I wanted him to be unable to live without me, to be dependent on me. But he doesn't need me, not at all. He will be able to go on and pass Auror training while I go off to school. He won't need me to hold his hand and feed him chocolate biscuits.

That is why I feel so abandoned. It is not that he will leave me, but that he will be able to do so. In all of my buying and helping and mending and fighting and cheering and listening and _struggling_, he still does not need me; I need _him_. I have put only myself in debt: pouring out so much love and receiving little in return.

I've pushed so far, too hard for such a fragile bond as ours. I gave too much and expected too much in return. I tried too obviously, listened too closely. Although I thought I had recovered from my younger years in primary school, I have not changed one iota. I still push and strive and unnerve those I was trying to win. It almost happened with Ron and Harry, happened with Lavender and Parvati. That is why Ron does not care to kiss me again. After all, I forced it upon him.

The most heart-breaking of all of this, however, is that I've failed in being what Ron needed. If I've striven for this long and done this much, then I don't know how to be what Ron needs. I've done everything in my power except die for him, not that I wouldn't have done so.

I have placed my survival in his hands countless times this year, but he has been responsible for my _life_ quite a bit longer. I don't understand how he doesn't feel that nothing is real unless we're together. There is absolute warmth involved in being in each other's presence. Without him, I'd be lost in this ludicrous world. I'd be lost in the absurdity of parents forgetting their daughter when there are parents willing to give anything to reverse the loss of a son, lost in the absurdity that I have caused. His obligation to hold my place in the world steady and understandable will continue for much longer than I think he is prepared.

"I thought we decided we'd talk when we have a problem instead of running away."

I jolt up, seeing Ron in the doorway, leaning against the jamb in the crooked way only he can. His arms are crossed across his chest, legs crossed as he observes me. Traitor warmth surrounds me.

"How—"

"Deluminator. It's a lot easier to use it now that I know about that little 'finding Hermione' feature." The corners of his mouth turn up, his eyes still on me.

I wish to say everything and nothing, so I wait for him to speak.

"Why did you run?"

I look at him for a few seconds, tracing the blue-white lines on his arms with my eyes, before deciding not to tell him everything I've been thinking. "I've had some startling realizations about—well, everything."

One eyebrow goes up. "Oh, really? And what does that mean?"

I open my mouth and then close it.

"Lost for words? That's not the Herm—"

"I've trapped you!" I exclaim, just so he won't finish that damning sentence.

"Trapped me?"

"Yes. I've bought you things and you feel the need to repay them, so you can't let me go until you pay back your debt, so to speak."

"Well," Ron says, looking at me carefully. "Sure, I want to pay you back someday, but I've never really thought of our rel—fr—relationship that way."

"Oh," I say, confused. I had been so sure that had been the case. "Well, I go too far. I mean, I try to help and I just turn out to be a heinous b—"

"Never thought of that either," he interrupts. "Might include bossy as an adjective, but..." He trails off, shrugging, and then his eyebrows draw together. "Hermione, what—"

I push on, as always, words now wheeling out of control. "I try to be what you needed, I've attempted to help you after everything, but I don't know what to do. I used to know. It was easy when all you needed was help with schoolwork and someone to listen to you, but now—now—" Dry sobs fill the spaces between my words. "I've done everything I know how to do."

"Hermione—" he says, suddenly kneeled at my side, arm around my shoulder. "Maybe..." he says, pausing to swallow, "maybe, I should try to be what you need now." I know it's a question, but I don't speak, utterly stunned. When I don't respond, he continues softly. "Tell me what else you've realized."

My eyes lock on him for a few moments as he moves to sit down next to me, his arm never relinquishing its stronghold around my shoulder. "You don't need me. You can—and will!—go off and do well without me as an Auror and I—that makes me feel...inordinately abandoned."

He just looks at me. "Abandoned." His hand clumsily squeezes my shoulder. "I never wanted you to feel that way again. Not after…"

We both know how the sentence ends, so neither of us bothers to make the effort.

Expressing my realization is surprisingly simple despite only discovering it minutes ago. "I need you to need me."

Ron kisses the top of my head and lets out one breath of a laugh. "Don't worry about that. I need you, probably always will." He trails off at the end of this sentence, as if rethinking it even as it spills out.

I turn to him quickly in disbelief. "I've been at the Burrow for weeks and you haven't touched me. You've barely even looked at me!"

"I've been afraid that you'll see how much everything means. How important this—what we have—is to me. I thought—I thought I would scare you."

For the first time since I felt his distancing, I actually _look_ at him watching me: eyes so deep with yearning that I could get lost in them. He whispers, "What else did you realize?"

This newest thought is so sudden, striking, and genuine, I don't bother to fight saying it. "I don't want to go back to Hogwarts before I've felt your hand on my face."

Disbelief colors the deep eyes even as his free hand rises slowly to touch my face and I close my eyes. My skin all but vibrates against my skull, making me entirely useless. His warm fingertips are firecrackers on my face, sparking the nerve endings in a way I didn't know was possible. I feel the bottom of his perfectly calloused thumb over the corner of my mouth, the tip of his index finger lingering beside my eye. His thumb is adjacent to my nose, almost stroking it whenever his hand twitches nervously. I lose myself in the sensations of his skin, familiar and foreign, pressure building behind my eyelids. One straggler tear escapes through my eyelashes onto his thumb, the others follow its example, finding their way through the same chink in my protection. I turn my face away, trying to hide the weakness.

"Hermione, don't. You don't have to...worry about crying in front of me. I'm not going to run from...emotion," he assures me haltingly, his breath hot on my face, his fingers finding their way back to my cheek. Its twin brushes a rogue lock of hair behind my ear.

His understanding proves to me that he can be what I need, the calm in the storm. I burrow my face in the place between shoulder and neck, dislodging his hands. He leans back, wrapping his left arm around my waist to hold me close while his right hand returns to its wish-fulfillment.

A sigh escapes him. "You know what I just realized?"

I shake my head, leaning further into his body. He lies back on the floor, his arm leaving my waist so that I can lie next to him. His hand stays on my face, thumb stroking my cheek.

"I don't ever want to get to a place in my life where I don't need you."

"Me either." The simple phrase was no longer the easy reciprocation of a friend, but the ardent confession of an admirer. And by the kiss he pressed gently to my lips, I knew he took it as such.


End file.
